


Daughter of the Sea (three stories, from the north, the south, and elsewhere)

by Quillori



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Folklore - Fandom, Legend of the City of Ys
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:18:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/pseuds/Quillori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Yes, I have seen the white daughter of the sea, and I have heard her sing, and her songs were plaintive as the sound of the waves.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gradlon and Malgven in the North

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenofspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/gifts).



In those days Gradlon, who was king of Kerne, was a great warrior and leader of men, and there was no greater joy for him than to go raiding, gathering wealth wherever he went, for no town could stand against him. Further and further north he went, with his many ships and his stout-hearted Breton crew, and though the towns grew fewer and the land wilder, he had no desire to turn back, for what towns there were had more gold if less grain than the peaceful towns of the south, and their defenders were as fierce as the land they lived in and good to fight, if a man desired to gain glory as well as gold.

But now he stood alone upon a rocky beach, the cold sea angrily thundering against the rocks, driven by an icy wind, and the air full of ice and salt, so that it stung his skin as though he were beaten with nettles, or cut with a myriad tiny knives. It was the queer half-light time, where he could see no sun, but it was not yet truly dark, for time in the North is not like time elsewhere, and day and night do not follow each other, turn and turn about, in quick succession, but first day and then night are prolonged out of all knowing, and the time between them likewise, that is elsewhere only a brief gloaming.

The land and the sea and the wind were cold as the night sky, but he did not feel them, for he burned with fury, cursing his men for their love of home, and their desire to see again their wives and children, which had worn away their lust for battle, so that they said they had enough gold, and enough of fighting, and wished now to turn back and live quietly in their own land, ploughing their farms and lying peacefully at night by their own wives, with their children and the friends of their youth around them. Nor could Gradlon convince them otherwise, for all he was their king, and they had sworn to follow him, for they said there was a limit beyond which no promise could be made, and they had followed him as far as any man’s loyalty could take them.

And so Gradlon found himself alone, on that distant beach, with only his weapon in his hand and the remnants of a dying fire, and no followers or ships or supplies of any kind. But he was not down-hearted, for it seemed to him he was still a powerful warrior, and a wise and experienced strategist, who would be welcomed in any court for his strength of arm and for his counsel, so that there was no need for him to be a great king, with men and ships at his command: even as one man, a solitary wanderer, he could make his way, and gain wealth and standing on his own merit. 

Therefore, when he had grown tired of cursing his men who had abandoned him, he went resolutely forward, meaning to keep going until he found some habitation where he could present himself and seek a place. But scarcely had he gone a few steps when he saw he was not alone after all, for there was a woman standing on the shore, just where the waves were breaking the hardest, watching him. She stood as sure and unyielding as though she were carved of rock, and even the greatest wave did not move her, nor did she pay it any attention, any more than she did the wind, although it was cold as the grave and she drenched to the skin with salt water.

He could not have guessed her age, but she was very beautiful, with the stark, hard-edged beauty appropriate to a land of rock and ice, and the dying fire reflected red in her dark eyes.

When she saw that he had seen her, she greeted him by name, and praised him for the battles he had won, for by her wisdom she knew everything about him. And he spoke to her with equal courtesy, asking to know who she was, and who ruled the land in which he had found himself.

“My name is Malgven,” she said, “And I am married to the man who is now the king, which is a great sorrow to me, for he has become old, and he neither rides out to conquer men in battle, bringing them under his rule, nor does he bring the pleasure a wife should expect from her husband. I prefer a man at the height of his strength, who has not grown feeble with age, and whose sword is keen-edged and bright, not rusted away with the passage of years.”

“I am such a man,” said Gradlon, “And I would gladly take your husband’s place, if it would be pleasing to you.”

So Malgven told him to follow her, and that she would conceal him by her arts, so that no one would see him or know of his presence, and he might thus come unobserved into her husband’s chamber. It was a long way from the beach to the castle, and afterwards Gradlon could not have said how long he walked, whether it was hours or days or years, for the light never changed, and neither sun nor stars appeared, but he would have been happy had the way been twice as long, for Malgven walked beside him, and already he loved her with the same passion with which he had loved fighting and the gaining of victory. And when they came to the castle, which was very dark and grim, and seemed less a thing built by men than something formed naturally from the very bones of the land, as a mountain or a cliff is formed - when he came there, it was as she had said, and he passed through the twisted passageways and the great, vaulted rooms like a ghost, and always Malgven walked at his side.

At last they reached the central chamber, in which there was a large bed, carved roughly from the same grey stone as the floor and the wall, with a pile of old furs for bedding. And on this bed a man lay asleep, who had once been a man of might and power, but whose hair was now white with age, and to whose body little strength remained. As sometimes happens, in sleep he had fallen into the attitudes of death, so that he lay on his back with his hands crossed on his chest, very peaceful, and his sword beside him. At a word from Malgven, Gradlon drew his own sword, and plunged it into the old king’s heart, at which Malgven embraced him, wrapping her white arms around him and murmuring endearments

The two of them then left the castle in the same way they had entered it, and returned together to the shore, where the waves beat and broke themselves against a huge, dark rock, sending the white spray high into the air. As they approached, Gradlon saw it was not after all a rock, but a huge horse, larger than any he had seen before, with a white mane the colour of sea-foam or an old man’s beard, although the horse itself was strong and muscular, and its coat was otherwise black as the earth or the depths of the sea. Together they climbed on the back of the horse, and it sprung eagerly forward into the waves, its hooves striking sparks against the rock like lightning. Then it was away, out over the water, crossing the sea as though it were land, fast as the storm winds and untiring as the sea itself. And still there was neither sun nor stars, nor did the moon arise.

The sea stretched on, endless and barren, with no land in sight, but in time, though Gradlon could not have said whether it was a short time or an eternity, they saw ships in the distance, very small and frail looking in the great expanse of water. As they drew nearer they saw that they were Gradlon’s own ships, that had sailed away and left him far in the North. And even as Gradlon recognised them there came a red glow about the horizon, faint at first but quickly spreading, as a newly kindled fire catches and begins to burn fiercely, spreading red and gold across the sky, for they had come at last to the lands where the sun returns each day, and light and dark succeed each other at a regular and measured pace.

Gradlon thought to return to his ships, so as to bring his new queen home to Kerne in comfort, but a storm had swept down from the North behind them, and the ships seeing it sailed all the quicker, hoping to outrun it, for it was such a storm as must surely smash any ship caught in its towering waves. Indeed the men, who a moment before had been full of joy at the return of the sun, were now struck with terror, certain they would never return to their peaceful homes, nor see the sun rise over their own familiar land. It was, they said, a judgement on them for having followed their king too far, going with him past the lands of men and into that other land, where magic reigns.

Hearing this, Gradlon scorned them for cowards, who were not fit to escort his queen, and wheeling the great, dark horse away he continued on without them, and the storm followed him, so that the ships were saved and continued on also, and the men aboard them blessed with all their hearts the sun and the new day that had, as they thought, driven off the storm and saved them.

Gradlon and Malgven rode on alone, over the sea, now in the bright day, now in the dark night; by day the sun, by night the stars guided them, so that Gradlon hoped soon to reach Kerne again, after many years absence. But before they reached the coast of Brittany, while they still rode through empty and deserted sea, they came to a rock, bare and unforrested, the size of a small island, which was a great wonder to Gradlon, for it seemed as the rock was not fixed, but floated freely on the water, which is not the usual manner of rocks. 

On this rock they stopped, and Gradlon helped Malgven down from the horse, for by this time she was great with child. As soon as they were off its back, the horse stood still as stone, so you might have taken it for part of the rocky island.

“What manner of place is this?” Gradlon asked, for standing upon the rock it was quite clear it moved with the tide.

“The place where I must leave you,” Malgven replied. “And a place where neither you nor I will come again, for we are the second couple to walk here, and the third will not be until the end of this world, when that which has moved freely shall become fixed and still, and that which was lifeless shall live again.”

And it came to pass that Malgven was delivered of a child, and as soon as the child began to cry, and was taken up in her father's arms, Malgven vanished away, as sea-foam melts back into the sea, or stars fade out at daylight’s approach. But Gradlon mounted back on the dark horse, cradling his daughter, and returned to his kingdom, where there was much rejoicing that he had returned safe, for all had heard from the sailors who had accompanied him how far he had travelled, conquering all who stood against him, until he had taken a mortal injury, and his men had lit his funeral fire on a distant beach far to the north, and, grieving, left him there.


	2. Dahud and Gradlon and Winwaloe in Kerne

There once lived a king, who had been in his youth a great warrior, and had won himself great renown, and brought back much wealth. Now he ruled his kingdom wisely, so that all men respected him. One day Gradlon, for that was his name, was walking in the countryside alone when he heard a great clamour of birds. Following this sound, he came upon many magpies, all flocking together and flying together in one direction, as though they were following a road. Indeed, there were so many of them that the beating of their wings stirred up the air below them, blowing aside the dust (for it was the height of summer and the land was dry), so that a road really did seem to appear below them in the bone dry field. Gradlon was in two minds whether to follow them, to see where they were going, or whether to walk back along the way they had created, to see where they had come from, but just at that moment, he saw a figure walking towards him along the road of the magpies.

The stranger was a tall, thin man, well wrapped in a dark cloak, and as he drew closer Gradlon could see he had long silver hair that brushed his shoulders, so that he was as black and white as the magpies. Gradlon greeted him in a friendly way, and welcomed him to his kingdom, asking his name. Winwaloe (such being the name the stranger gave) returned his greeting and begged leave to make his home in a land he had heard was well governed above all others, and to serve a king whose praise was on all men’s tongues. To this Gradlon consented, and the two returned to town together, and soon became the fastest of friends. Nor could Gradlon have desired a more trustworthy friend, or a better adviser, and likewise Winwaloe said he had been led by God when he came to this place (for Winwaloe followed the one true god, whose worship was newly come to Brittany, the people having previously worshipped false gods).

Now this king had also a very beautiful daughter, whose name was Dahud. It would have brought him great pleasure if his daughter had married his friend, for then the two people he cared for most would have been united, but neither would hear of it. Winwaloe said he had vowed to his god to love no woman, be she as chaste and unsullied as the first winter snow, and for her part Dahud said she would not become the possession of any one man, be he never so young and handsome. And therefore in his wisdom Gradlon said no more on the matter, for Winwaloe was no longer young, and Dahud resembled the winter snow only in the fairness of her skin, which was white as the hawthorn flower.

To please Winwaloe, Gradlon had built a fine church, with great iron bells to sound the hours, and to toll for the dead, and Winwaloe gathered other holy men about him, who spent the day in prayer and penance. Often Gradlon would go there to walk in the churchyard, talking to his friend, or to sit quietly in the church itself while Winwaloe’s voice thundered out a great sermon, for no man could match Winwaloe for eloquence or power of speech. 

To please Dahud, Gradlon sponsored many jousts and banquets, and the flower of knighthood thought themselves untried and unworthy of fame until they had come to Kerne to compete for Dahud’s favour. And no city could have been more fair than Ys, which was the main city of Kerne, on the day of a joust: banners of every colour, and men and women dressed exquisitely; the brassy sound of trumpets and the steady beat of drums; the bustling swirl of the market - for everything could be bought in Ys, from lace to pies to the strange sharp teeth of sea monsters - and the shrill cries of the vendors, echoing the shrill cries of the gulls that wheeled always overhead. 

After the jousting was done, and the winner proudly crowned, the feasting would begin, and last all night, for Ys was rich, and carefree, and blessed by all the gods: the harvest never failed, the sea was full of fish, the merchant ships came always safe to port. Even the storms which raged along the coast, bringing down the biting north wind and blotting out the sun, never touched Ys, nor disturbed the easy passage of its shipping, so that those who whispered such storms came only after the return of their king, that in the days of Gradlon’s forefathers they had been quite unknown, were silenced, for if he had brought the storms, why would his own city remain untouched?

Often and often the bells of Winwaloe’s church merged into the trumpets and the drums of Dahud’s feasts, and the grim chanting of the monks was drowned by dance music and wild song. And once a month the finest knight, winner of many jousts, would be led to sit by Dahud and dine by her side. At first, Gradlon looked with favour on these men, all young, all strong, all like to be good leaders, and hoped that one would could be his heir. But Dahud found fault with each, saying they were good enough for a moment’s diversion, but not to marry her, and her judgement was not wrong, for in only a little time each cavalier in turn would be seen to weaken and fail, resigning his place to a new, more vigorous man, who would in turn prove disappointing. But Ys itself went on from strength to strength.


	3. Ys Beneath the Waves

The bay is peaceful now, untroubled by storms. Only sometimes at evening, when the dying light slants across the water, or at night when the moon makes a path across the dark waves, you can almost see the form of towers, and walls, and fine gardens, although of course it is an illusion, and there is nothing left but shifting sand and old stones, tumbled at random by the tide. Sometimes, too, when all is quiet, the birds hushed by nightfall or the heat of a summer’s afternoon, sometimes then you will hear the distant sound of bells, or trumpets, or song. (Is it a chant or a song? Impossible to tell for the sound of the waves on the shore.)

They say the waters rose gradually around Ys, which kept them at bay with great sea-walls, and continued in its wealth and prosperity, a city surrounded by the sea. And young men came to that city, young men who left, if they left at all, old beyond their years, and tired and drained of life. But all things come to an end, and the sea devours everything in time, everything that does not belong willingly to it (only the fishes that dart and swim in its depths are safe, only the creatures of the sea have no need to fear drowning). And so it came to pass that Ys too was drowned, its gates opened, welcoming the sea.

They say in nearby Quimper (where Gradlon lived out the remainder of his days) that the people of Ys turned always more towards the sea, and were sunk in wickedness, such that they would not follow the ways of the new church. They say Dahud drowned the city at the prompting of the devil, or through drunken folly, or as the crowning pinnacle of her own wickedness, and as the waves crashed over the city (great walls of water toppling the human walls of stone, racing through the wide streets, sweeping away palace and hall alike), Gradlon, the king, remembered his marvellous horse, which rode over water as other horses ride over land: he remembered also his friend, the sainted Winwaloe, whom he desired to save from the waters.

It is a fine story, often told, with Gradlon on his great dark horse, and Winwaloe, and his wicked daughter Dahud, and the waves rising around them. It is said the horse would not carry such a burden, that instead of rushing with the storm winds above the water it walked slowly and calmly, sinking a little deeper with every step, disappearing slowly back into the ocean, and a voice cried out to Gradlon, a voice he could never afterwards describe or name, crying out to him to cast off the devil if he wished to escape death. And Gradlon cast off his daughter, who sank into the water and swam away transformed, and he and Winwaloe escaped to Quimper, which Gradlon made his new capital, and where Winwaloe built a fine church, where the tomb of Gradlon may still be seen. But what became of the horse, no one can say.

This is many years ago now, and the stone of Gradlon’s tomb is worn away from the touch of many pilgrims, the church Winwaloe built changed out of all recognition, and Quimper a modern city that half forgets the past (and why not, for the past is dead and gone, dead as Gradlon, and Winwaloe, and the monks, and the merchants, and brave knights who came to joust).

But sometimes you can still see Ys in the reflections on the water, or catch a flash of colour as a fish darts deep below the surface (the same colour as a woman’s dress, or a knight’s bright armour). It is with Ys as it is with Kitezh, and Cantre’r Gwaelod, and Vineta, and there is no grave for Dahud.


End file.
